Get You The Moon
by NikonFriend
Summary: Brooke Davis -perceived by the world as strong, independent, and fearless- is left a shell of herself after she is brutally attacked in her own store. When her blonde best friend is determined to help Brooke pick up the pieces, they both discover that perhaps their mutual existence is greater than just a friendship. Perhaps it is enough to help Brooke return to the surface.
1. Chapter 1

AN:

Disclaimer: I 100% own nothing from the OTH franchise, the characters are not my own, etc. etc.

Okay so this picks up at the beginning of S6 but things are a little bit different. Lucas and Lindsey get married, Peyton stays in Tree Hill, Dan isn't abducted by Psycho Carrie, etc. This story is Breyton end-game, but will very much involve the rest of the characters.

I'll have more to say at the end of the chapter :)

* * *

Brooke Davis was a fashion designer. She was a business woman of sorts, an affluent and highly-regarded creative who spearheaded modern fashion. She was a strong and incredibly independent woman and she had been her whole life. She was a daughter, albeit to people whom she did not see as parents. She was a proprietor and the head of her own company. She was a friend to many and a role model to some. She was a godmother. Brooke Davis was equally charismatic as she was dignified, and she had a heart that beat for every person in her life. She was a source of comfort, a woman who refused to let the world beat her down no matter what was thrown her way. She provided strength, she offered respect, and she openly loved. She was strong, she was respected, and she was loved.

Yet, sitting on the floor of her home with her back against the kitchen counter, she felt anything but loved.

She felt anything but respected.

And she felt anything but strong.

No, Brooke Davis was broken. Shattered. Irreparable.

Sitting there on the floor, knees drawn to her aching chest, her head spinning and her stomach turning, Brooke Davis was no longer the Brooke Davis that the world claimed to know. She was a shell of herself. She could feel every ache and throb in her body, and if her ears were not ringing so deafeningly, she probably could have heard her own heartbeat in the empty silence of the home. She wasn't quite sure who she was anymore. In her state of disorientation and confusion and general detachment, she wasn't sure of anything. All she knew was that she was hurting, that somehow she had brought herself back into her home, and that she was alone. And the supposedly strong and independent Brooke Davis did not want to be alone.

She didn't register the fact that her phone was ringing, or that she had even dialed the one number she had memorized, until a familiar voice echoed. She didn't know what had been said to her. All she knew was that she didn't want to be alone. She _couldn't_ be alone.

"You didn't come home tonight."

Her voice was empty. Somehow, she was aware of that. She was aware of her own emptiness, of her own inability to connect with reality. She could no longer distinguish between what was reality and what was a nightmare. Even this was worse than any nightmare she had experienced before, and nothing felt real. She did not feel real.

"Oh shit, I didn't even realize how late it is, Sorry Brooke" Peyton apologized, laughing lightly. She was living in a different reality than Brooke currently was trapped in. She was living in a world where there was enough light left to laugh, enough hope to crack a smile. "I've been working on getting Mia some new shows to play and you wouldn't _believe_ the attitude I got from some of-"

"When do you think you'll be back?" Brooke asked, not really meaning to interrupt but not really caring either. Peyton's words didn't really connect with her, they didn't really have any meaning. All Brooke could think about was how much she needed someone. How much she needed Peyton.

"If I head out right now, I can be home in fifteen minutes," Peyton answered, her voice more serious now, laced with gentle but genuine concern. "What's up, Brooke? Is everything alright?"

 _No._

"Just come home," Brooke breathed out, her voice barely even audible to herself. " _Please_."

"Of course, hun, I'll be there soon," Peyton promised. "I'm getting into my car right now, alright?"

"Thanks Peyton."

Peyton's worry was evident in her tone, and if Brooke had been any less dissociated, she would have felt bad for leaving the blonde in the dark. But Brooke couldn't think right now. She couldn't focus, she couldn't talk, she could barely even breathe. She was running on autopilot, her mouth moving and her thumb pressing down on the end button without her even being consciously aware of what was happening. She didn't even feel like she existed anymore, as if the body she was in wasn't her own. Really, tonight had been enough to leave her feeling like her body _wasn't_ her own. She didn't have control over it anymore. She didn't get to decide what happens to it anymore. She didn't have any say in what her body goes through. She didn't want her body anymore. She didn't want to live in it anymore, to exist in it anymore, to feel it anymore. She didn't want to exist anymore.

She could still feel everything. Hear everything. Smell everything. See everything. With every bruise that stained her skin, she could still feel his hands. With every cut and scrape, she could still feed the knife. Every time she blinked, she could vividly see the flashes of the night, the brief moments that had allowed her to see anything between opening her eyes and flinching against a closed fist. She could still see those eyes, the only piece of him that had proved him to be human- no, even those were inhuman. The eyes of an animal, filled with bloodlust and rage and brutality. She could still see them, could still hear the sound of his hands making contact with her body, could still smell his alcohol-laden breath and her own blood. Blood that was was still seeping slowly from her leg, that was dried beneath her nose and on her forehead, that was dried in her hair, that stained her stomach and chest and neck and hand. It was like he was still there, still tormenting her, still threatening her, still hurting her. But at the same time, it was like she wasn't even there. It was like she wasn't even present, like she was watching something that _hadn't_ happened to her. That _couldn't_ have happened to her. She was a witness to a crime that had ravaged a body that she inhabited but was not a part of. No, this couldn't have happened to her. It didn't make sense.

Nothing made sense.

Peyton arrived ten minutes after Brooke had hung up, and when she stepped into the house, the first thing she noticed was how _dark_ it was. Not a single light had been turned on, which left Peyton confused. At night, both herself and Brooke always left at least the dim kitchen light on. It was routine, it was their normal, it was habit. Yet, when Peyton entered the house, the only source of light was that provided by the moon outside, which only allowed a thin, dull layer of light to add depth and form to the interior. Peyton could only make out the form of the brunette before her, and even without any visible details of the woman's figure, Peyton knew that something was wrong.

Brooke was sat on the floor, her back against the kitchen island. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, her face aimed toward the wooden floorboards of the home. The woman was curled into a ball, as if she had condensed herself to take up as little space as possible in the house. Brooke hadn't even looked up at her, hadn't even acknowledged Peyton's presence. And that was what worried Peyton even more.

The blonde shut the door behind her, slowly but deliberately, without turning away from her clearly burdened friend. She felt for the light switch on the wall to her right, flicking it upwards without averting her eyes from the brunette's figure. When the room was illuminated, Peyton's fears intensified and she nearly felt faint.

"Oh my god, Brooke," Peyton breathed out.

She didn't hesitate to step toward her friend, panic fluttering in her chest as she spotted problem after problem. The brunette's hair was a mess, something unheard of when it came to the fashionnova. Her arms were spotted with bruises that were now beginning to form and darken. From what Peyton could see, the brunette's legs were even littered with small scrapes and bruises.

When Brooke lifted her head, slowly and with no visible emotion on her face, Peyton froze, dropping the bag in her hand and losing her own breath entirely. Dark, swelling bruises encompassed Brooke's eyes. A gash on the woman's forehead was accentuated by a dark trail of dried blood that ran down to her jawline. A busted lip sat below the dried blood below Brooke's nose. Other small cuts sat on the brunette's skin, along with a few other darkening patches that would no doubt be very prominent bruises soon. Peyton's mind swam even more when she saw the dark ring around Brooke's neck, and her heart practically constricted when she noticed the way the brunette's dress appeared to be disturbed, crooked, ripped, and stained dark red in a few different areas. She didn't know what happened, and a thousand different scenarios ran through her mind, each one worse than the next. She composed herself a moment later, though, knowing that her friend needed help, knowing that something _horrible_ had happened at that she needed to be the calm one. For Brooke.

Brooke's eyes, unreadable and distant, met Peyton's as the blonde knelt down in front of her.

"Hi," Brooke croaked out, her absence present even in her voice. Her movements were slow, her expression void, her voice empty.

Peyton swallowed, willing herself to be strong for the woman who sat, battered, before her. She needed to be strong for Brooke, she needed to be calm for Brooke, she needed to be rational for Brooke. No matter how panicked she felt internally, she could not let it show.

"Brooke, honey, what happened?" Peyton asked softly, never breaking eye-contact with her friend for even a second.

Brooke's brow furrowed and she opened her mouth for a moment, averting her gaze, searching for some kind of an answer to give Peyton. The brunette's eyes were a storm of emotion and confusion and sadness. And pain. Finally, she just shrugged, sucking in a sudden, shaky breath before shutting her jaw and biting her lip. She shook her head, her eyes growing even more troubled. She couldn't answer, she didn't know how to.

Peyton pleaded once more, placing a hand on the brunette's shoulder. The brunette tensed up in response, which left Peyton feeling as though someone had just driven a blade through her heart. This was bad.

"Brooke, I need you to talk to me," Peyton pleaded softly, praying internally that her friend would be honest with her. There was no response. "What happened, Brooke?"

Brooke still didn't look up, but she opened her mouth, which left Peyton with a momentary feeling of hope that she would receive an answer to the question that was currently causing her heart to clench.

"I fell down the stairs," Brooke croaked out with a weak shrug.

Her lie was transparent, though, and they both knew it. Brooke's features were somehow even more troubled and haunted. But she couldn't say the words out-loud. Hell, she couldn't even find the words. She couldn't even understand what had happened herself, couldn't wrap her mind around the night's events. She couldn't look Peyton in the eyes, couldn't vocalize what had happened that night, what had happened _to her._ What _had_ even happened?

Peyton's hand found Brooke's, and the blonde was somewhat surprised when the brunette actually grabbed a tight hold of it. She could feel Brooke's hand tremble, could feel that the brunette was burdened by something horrible, and she shut her eyes, taking in a deep breath. She needed to stay strong for them both.

"Brooke, _please..."_ Peyton begged, giving her friend's hand a squeeze. "Talk to me."

"I fell," Brooke tried again, her voice cracking as she raised her eyebrows and tried to shrug again.

She couldn't say the words. Instead, she just exhaled unsteadily, her mind slowly connecting more and more with reality as she struggled to answer the blonde. She _knew_ what had happened to her, but she just couldn't say it. She couldn't _accept_ it. It still didn't make sense, and she didn't think she would ever be able to make sense of it.

Peyton's rested her hand gently on the side of Brooke's face and the brunette slowly looked up, making eye-contact with her best friend, with the one person who was capable of pulling her back to reality in any way. She knew that Peyton could read her, she knew that Peyton would never fall for any of her lies or her false reassurances, knew that Peyton was the single person capable of making her feel human, of making her feel as though she wouldn't fall apart while doing so.

"Brooke, honey, it's me," Peyton whispered, somehow knowing that she was beginning to get through to the brunette. She lowered her head slightly, making sure she was at eye-level with her friend, and softened her voice. "It's me, okay? You know you can tell me _anything..."_ She brushed a stray strand of Brooke's hair behind her ear, maintaining gentle but captive eye-contact. "Talk to me, B. Davis. I don't know how to help you right now, I don't know what to do, hun. I need you to tell me how I can help you."

Brooke let out a shaky breath, close to a sob, and leaned into the hand that cradled her hand, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. Her shoulders began to shake as she finally began to break down. Her breathing grew uneven, her whole body began to shake, racked with emotion and pain, and she practically collapsed into the blonde's immediate embrace. Peyton held her with no complaints, no regrets, no hesitation. She held her firmly but gently, wishing that she could take away her best friend's pain. If only life were that simple. If only an embrace and a few minutes of holding a crumbling Brooke was enough to put all of the pieces back together. If only Peyton could erase the hurt and horror in her friend's eyes, the pain and broken sorrow in her friend's sobs. No, this wasn't that simple. This wasn't Brooke crying because she'd had a bad day. This wasn't Brooke crying because she'd gotten into a spat with her mother. This wasn't Brooke crying because she'd fallen down the stairs. This was Brooke, bawling and shaking and holding onto Peyton for dear life. This was Brooke, hurt. This was Brooke, broken.

When Brooke had finally stopped crying an unknown measure of time later, Peyton had to take a few breaths to regain her own composure. She hadn't even realized that she, too, had shed a few tears. But now wasn't the time for Peyton to be upset. She needed to be strong, composed, calm. She needed to remain put together for Brooke. Brooke eased herself out of the embrace and back against the kitchen island, letting out a sad, quivering breath. Her eyes were shut, but her expression was still hopeless. Hurt. Haunted. Peyton held onto one of the brunette's hands in both of her own and she prepared herself to speak once more, knowing that Brooke likely wouldn't react well to what she had to say.

"Brooke, sweetie, I'm gonna call an ambulance for you, okay? I-"

 _"No,"_ Brooke insisted, interrupting the blonde. Her eyes shot open as she looked at Peyton, absolute fear filling her eyes. "No, Peyton, please, don't," she begged. "I'm fine, okay? I don't need an ambulance, I'm okay."

Peyton sighed dejectedly, her shoulders falling as she tilted her head and looked Brooke softly in the eyes. Brooke was stubborn. Brooke was insistent. Peyton knew that it wouldn't be easy to convince to brunette to get into an ambulance any time soon.

"Brooke," she whispered, not trusting her voice to remain steady. She hurt for her friend, and she herself felt lost in the situation, unsure of what would be the right thing to do. "What am I supposed to do, hun? You're hurt, we both know you're not fi-"

"I _will_ be fine," Brooke cut her off, squeezing Peyton's hand in an attempt to convince the blonde that an ambulance wasn't necessary.

She couldn't go to a hospital, she sure as hell couldn't go to the police. For one thing, it would mean _really_ facing the reality of her situation. In addition to that, it would mean exposure. It would mean the press, and the media, and the tabloids _all_ knowing what had happened. It would mean people knowing what would happened, and knowing that it was real, and knowing that Brooke couldn't protect herself. Knowing that Brook Davis, the strong and independent brunette from Tree Hill, was not strong. She was helpless. She was powerless. She was weak. Too weak to find words to tell Peyton the truth, and too weak to allow herself to go to the hospital. Too weak to help herself.

But another thought crossed her mind as well, a thought that had been lingering since the attack, a fear that loomed over her. It hovered like a black cloud that only intended to downpour upon her, and as much as she refused to allow herself the benefits that a hospital _could_ have, she knew that there was one thing that she _had_ to do. One thing that she _needed._ One thing that she _knew_ she needed because she _needed_ to save herself from one harrowing, looming fear.

Brooke sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself as she struggled to find the words that she needed to voice. How she would even be able to vocalize them she had no clue, but she knew that it needed to be done. She knew that there was only one more part of her that she could save, and she _needed_ to save it. Otherwise, there would be no hope of a future for her.

"Peyton," she breathed, catching the blonde's full attention.

She shut her eyes, knowing that there was no way she could say this while looking her best friend in the face. She didn't want to see the look that she knew would form in Peyton's eyes, to see the horror or disgust or pity that she knew would manifest itself within the blonde.

"I _will_ fine," Brooke began, her voice unsteady and quiet and coated with fear. "If you want to help, if you _want_ me to be fine, can you just- can you go to the store for me?"

She didn't need to open her eyes to see Peyton's confusion. Brooke clenched her jaw for a second, swallowing the knot in her throat. She bit her lip, turning her head even farther away as she involuntarily squeezed Peyton's hand hard enough that it probably hurt the blonde.

" _Just get me the morning-after pill, and I'll be fine."_

She made her request with a broken voice, uncertainty seeping through each word, desperation making itself more and more apparent with every articulation. She didn't even believe herself, and while she hadn't really _confessed_ what had happened to her, she knew that she had made it obvious. And making it obvious, admitting what had occurred, was enough to break her down even further. It was enough to leave her absolutely drowned in shame and despair.

Peyton could only gasp, realization hitting her when she pieced together Brooke's request. The bruises. The ripped dress. _The morning-after pill._ Peyton's worst fear, the one that had left her frozen when she'd first seen Brooke's marred skin, was now a reality. And it didn't feel real, but she knew that it was. She knew that the dark bruise that wrapped itself around Brooke's throat was real. She knew that the dried blood on Brooke's face was real. She knew that her friend's torn clothes were real. She knew that Brooke Davis -her best friend, her rock, her other half- had faced a horror unimaginable, and that it was real.

"Oh my god, Brooke," Peyton exhaled, her breath catching in her throat as she wrapped Brooke into her embrace once again.

The brunette fell into Peyton's arms once again, and if either of them had thought that the brunette had already cried out any tears she could, they were proven wrong. Peyton held her friend, horrified that this could happen to anyone, let alone anyone she knew, let alone _Brooke._ How could this happen? Who could do this to the kind soul that was Brooke Davis? Who could be evil enough to hurt her like this?

She whispered quiet assurances to the brunette, but she herself didn't even know if she believed anything that she said. She could feel her own tears streaming down her cheeks as she held onto Brooke, wishing that she could hold her like that forever, protect her from the world forever. But, as much as she knew Brooke would protest, Peyton knew that the brunette would need to go out into the world once again, and it killed her to know that she would be the catalyst for this.

"I have to call you an ambulance," Peyton spoke, her voice laced with guilt. Brooke's sobs grew even more pained as Peyton pulled herself back slightly to look Brooke in the eyes. "I'm so sorry Brooke, but I have to."

 _"Please,"_ Brooke's cries were strained, filled with hurt. She looked at the blonde desperately, absolutely broken. "Just g- get the pill, I'll be fine, just-"

"Brooke, love, I'm so, _so_ sorry, but I have to," Peyton tried to explain, choking up as she willed away the sobs that she herself wanted to release. She reached into her pocket for her phone. She hated this. She hated being any part of the reason for Brooke's pain. But she would never be able to forgive herself if she didn't do this.

"Peyton, _please,"_ Brooke cried out. It was the worst thing Peyton had ever heard. She never before could have imagined that Brooke's voice could ever hold so much pain, so much dread, so much despair, so much hopelessness. She never could have imagined that Brooke could ever look at her with so much anguish. She never could have imagined that Brooke could ever appear so shattered, so defeated.

Peyton placed her hand on Brooke's cheek once more, being careful not to do so in a way that might cause her friend any more pain than she was already in. She _hated_ this. The brunette looked at her pleadingly, but they both knew that Brooke knew that she couldn't avoid this. They both knew that Peyton was going to call 911. They both knew that there really wasn't any other option.

"Brooke, honey," Peyton whispered, not trusting her own voice. She had the brunette's attention. "I'm doing this because I love you, okay? _Please_ remember that."

And with that, Peyton took the battered woman into her arms once more, holding her with conviction as she dialed 911, pleading with whatever god might exist that Brooke might recover from whatever had happened.

Brooke Davis _had_ to recover.

And Peyton would make sure of it.

* * *

AN:

okay so a heavy intro chapter, but it's the only way I wanted to start the story. I have pretty much the whole fic planned out, and it'll be quite the ride and a pretty long story, so hopefully I'll be able to crank out updates faster than I have in the past. Most later chapters will probably be a decent bit longer than this too.

I might even have the next chapter up by tomorrow? Maybe even the end of tonight if I can keep myself focused?

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, _please_ leave them. Reviews are so so so so helpful as motivation to keep on updating and your guys' insight is also so so important for the development of the story.

Ah, also: title of the story is inspired by the song "Get You The Moon" by Kinabeats ft. Snøw. Give it a listen, you can find it on Spotify and probably anywhere else as well

Well, I hope you all have a nice night, peace out lads.

-NF


	2. Chapter 2

The following hours were a blur for Brooke.

Now sitting in Peyton's car in the hospital parking lot, it was the light that caught her attention. It was no longer dark out, as it had been when they had arrived at the hospital. No, now it was light out. Brooke didn't care enough to check the time, but she figured it was just past noon. Yet, she really had nothing to judge the time off of. Everything was a blur, and once again, nothing seemed real anymore.

She could remember the timeline of events, but most of the details after the attack were lost in her mind. She remembered the attack, she remembered every second of it, but everything after that was skewed. Walking home barefoot, shoes left somewhere on the floor of the store. Sitting on the floor, Peyton's arrival, Peyton's protective hold on her that had remained until they'd entered the hospital. She remembered Peyton being separated from her because she had cried for the doctors to let Peyton stay with her. But no, her begging, no matter how desperate, had been useless. Peyton hadn't been permitted past the doors.

Then came the X-ray for her chest, and the fairly thorough examination of the wound on her leg. The doctor had told her she was lucky. Lucky that the wound hadn't been deep enough to knick an artery. Lucky that there wasn't any severe damage to any muscle or nervous tissue. Lucky that the bleeding wasn't too extreme. Lucky that it would heal fairly easily. He had said the same thing about her broken rib. She was lucky that it hadn't punctured a lung, that it was only a small break, that it would heal within six weeks. Then came the discussion about her head, about the fact that she was concussed and that she would likely face some disorientation and nausea and some headaches for a while, but she was _lucky._ Lucky that there wasn't any bleeding in her brain, lucky that her skull hadn't been fractured, lucky that she hadn't passed out.

But god, Brooke had _wished_ that she'd passed out.

At least then she wouldn't be able to remember.

Hours after arriving at the hospital, she'd been permitted to see Peyton again, and the blonde had been her saving grace, the one soul in that hospital who had made her feel safe in any way. But even that was a blur to Brooke, because that brief, unspoken moment of comfort had been broken when it had come time for the examination that she'd been sent to the hospital for in the first place. At least this time, she'd had a say in whether or not Peyton could come with her, and Brooke didn't even need to ask the blonde for her support. The brunette had been worried that Peyton wouldn't want to be there for that, that it wasn't fair of her to _ask_ Peyton to be present for the lengthy examination. But Peyton had grabbed Brooke's hand, had asked the brunette if she was okay with her accompanying her, and had never once shown any form of regret for entering that room with her. And Brooke wasn't sure she would have gotten through those couple of hours if Peyton hadn't been there to hold her hand throughout.

Now, sitting in the car hours later, Brooke felt removed. She felt like this couldn't have been her own life. No, not when it was light out now. Not when the sun was visible. Not when she had gone through what felt like a lifetime in less than a day. No, it was like she was watching some sort of broken movie reel, with a year's worth of events being played out in such a brief amount of time. It just didn't feel real, it didn't feel possible. Maybe it never would. Maybe she would always be this person, broken, confused, detached. Would that really be any worse than being the person who accepted the reality? Who accepted what she had been through?

Flashes of the night continued to fall upon her. The attack. Talking to Peyton. The ambulance. The examination. The attack. Being told how "lucky" she was. The examination. Peyton trying to explain why she should talk to the police. The attack. The examination. The attack. The attack. The attack.

Both Brooke and Peyton were pulled out of their own minds when the ringing of Peyton's cell phone broke the solemn silence that they had each been lost in. Peyton's eyes immediately flew to Brooke, conscious of the way the brunette had practically jumped out of her seat. It was instinctual for her to grab the brunette's hand, to keep her grounded, and her eyes met her friend's. Brooke's eyes were somewhat fearful, but when their hands met and when Peyton whispered a soft "it's okay," the brunette calmed down fairly easily.

Peyton pulled out her cell phone with her free hand, mentally refusing to let go of Brooke. As much as Brooke needed Peyton's presence, Peyton also needed to _know_ that Brooke was there with her, that Brooke was safe.

The blonde glanced down at her phone and frowned, seeing Haley's name. It wasn't that she didn't want to speak to their friend, or that she didn't care what Haley needed to say. It was just that Peyton had priorities, and while Haley didn't even know anything about what was going on, Peyton knew that whatever Haley had to say probably wasn't high up on the list at the moment. Brooke was at the top of the list, and as far as Peyton was now concerned, Brooke would always be at the top.

Brooke, however, was the single thing that stopped Peyton from hitting the end button right away. Giving the blonde's hand a gentle squeeze, Brooke just nodded toward the phone, signaling for Peyton to answer it. Peyton had a life too. Haley had a life too. All of her friends still had their own lives going on, and Brooke genuinely didn't care if Peyton were to answer. It probably wouldn't be a lengthy conversation, and it wasn't like either of the women had been talking anyway.

Peyton gave Brooke a small, apologetic smile before lifting the cell phone to her ear, giving the brunette's hand one more small squeeze. Brooke just listened to the conversation, knowing that it wasn't that serious and knowing that if she wasn't focusing on _something_ else, she would only revert back to her previous thoughts, her previous memories.

"Hey Haley, what's up?" Peyton asked, shutting her eyes as she spoke. Brooke, knowing Peyton well enough, understood that was the blonde's way of praying that the conversation would be short. It was understandable. They were both exhausted, minds preoccupied. "Yeah, uh, I'm not gonna be able to make it to the studio today. Something came up-" Brooke frowned. Yeah, something had definitely come up, but what excuse was Peyton going to be able to come up with on the spot?

"What? Yeah, yeah Hales I'm fine," the blonde continued, squeezing her eyes shut for a second, clearly trying to come up with a reasonable excuse. "I just, uh, I'm kinda feeling like shit. I spent like, _half_ the morning hunched over the toilet... Yeah, no, it's nothing to worry about, probably just something I ate, but I think I'm better off staying at home today... Yeah, I'm fine, I promise. Alright, I'll see ya, Hales, bye."

Peyton opened her eyes wide as she closed her phone, letting out short, relieved breath. She turned toward Brooke and grimaced slightly, offering her friend an uncertain smile.

"That was believable, right?" She asked, somewhat amused at her own unplanned excuse. She ran a nervous hand through her hair, but it was clear to Brooke that Peyton was also somewhat amused at how flustered she was. "That was good?"

Peyton felt a rush of genuine relief when Brooke cracked what appeared to be a genuine smile, no matter how small it was. A small flicker of amusement manage to make its way into Brooke's eyes, and Peyton didn't even care how believable her lie was, as long as it gave Brooke any reason to smile.

"It was perfect," Brooke spoke. Her voice was tired, but still somewhat entertained. "I'm sure even Tutor Mom wouldn't be able to see through you."

Peyton smiled softly at her best friend and gave Brooke's hand another gentle squeeze. After the past eleven hours, it was actually refreshing to hear the minute amount of levity coming from the brunette who sat next to her. No matter how much exhaustion was dripping from her voice, there was still some amusement. Some sliver of proof that Brooke wasn't entirely gone. Some confirmation that Brooke Davis was still there. If anything, it was a reassurance to Peyton that Brooke was _not_ broken, that Brooke was strong, that Brooke would survive this. Even if the brunette herself couldn't see it yet, no matter how long it might take, Peyton knew that Brooke would survive this. She _had_ to survive this. Peyton wouldn't let one night destroy Brooke Davis so entirely. She wouldn't let one man's existence cause her friend's life to deteriorate. She would do everything in her power and more to ensure that the beautiful, powerful, incredible woman who was Brooke Davis would never disappear.

"Thank you," Brooke breathed. The sadness had returned, but in this moment, it wasn't despair. It wasn't hopelessness. No, it was a sort of sorrowful gratitude, a sort of sad longing. While that still hurt Peyton to see, it was better than the absence that she had seen earlier.

Peyton looked at the blonde, her expression slightly confused as she opened her mouth to assure Brooke that there was nothing to thank her for, but Brooke continued before she had the chance to vocalize anything.

"For not telling her," Brooke clarified, letting out a quiet, sad sigh as she looked down to their hands and then back up to the blonde. "And for being here for me..."

Peyton's jaw dropped and she felt her heart break for what must have been the hundredth time that night. Did Brooke really think that she needed to _thank_ Peyton for being there? Did think that she didn't deserve this support? Or that this wasn't something that Peyton was willing to do without hesitation? Did she think that Peyton would ever _not_ be there for her?

The blonde wrapped Brooke into a hug, although it was a gentle one, and shook her head gently, letting out a soft breath.

"You _never_ have to thank me for being here with you," Peyton spoke with conviction, hoping that Brooke understood that Peyton really was there _with_ her, not _for_ her. " _Never."_

This was not a chore for Peyton. Sure, it was far from a ride on the merry go round, but this would never be something that Peyton was only doing for Brooke. This would never be something that Brooke would ever owe her back for. This wasn't a favor, or a chore, or a task. Whether Brooke would have wanted her to be or not, Peyton would have been here. This was Brooke Davis, her best friend and her other half. She wasn't there as a favor, she was there as a necessity. She _needed_ to be there with Brooke. She couldn't imagine _not_ being there for her.

"We're gonna get through this," Peyton promised softly, gently running her hand up and down Brooke's back to comfort the brunette, who was holding onto Peyton just as tightly. "I love you so so much B. Davis, you don't even know."

Brooke let out a sad, tired sigh and nodded her head against the blonde's shoulder, her exhaustion suddenly taking claim over her as she found slight solace in Peyton's arms. Somehow, even after everything, there was something about Peyton's embrace that allowed her to feel safe. But god, she was exhausted, and she really wasn't sure how long her body could last being awake. It was a wonder she had gotten even this far.

"I just wanna go home," she breathed out.

* * *

Peyton leaned against the dresser in her bedroom, her knuckles white as she gripped the edges of the piece of furniture. She couldn't let herself break now. She couldn't let the tears fall, couldn't let _herself_ fall. Every fiber of her being wanted to break, to collapse, to give in to the weight of the past twelve hours. _Twelve hours._ It hadn't even been a day, yet it felt like it was a lifetime ago that she'd been sitting in the studio, rolling her eyes about hotheaded music executives and entitled producers. God, what she would give for her job to be the worst of her concerns now. Everything else was just a minor inconvenience compared to what Brooke now had to deal with, a blemish compared to a scar.

She couldn't let herself break now.

She needed to stay strong, even if Brooke wasn't in the room there with her right now. She needed to keep her composure, to appear as stable as possible. If she were to allow her body to give in to the absolute dread that currently cluttered her mind, she would never be able to pick herself up quickly enough that Brooke wouldn't see red eyes, or shaky hands, or a heavy voice. Brooke would come out of the shower eventually, and when she did, Peyton needed to be strong. She needed to be Brooke's rock, just as Brooke always had been for her.

The brunette had been awake for at least thirty hours now. She had been awake ever since the previous morning, a thought that made Peyton hurt even more for her best friend. The brunette had been through so much within just the past two days, when would she ever get a break? Peyton sighed, knowing the answer before she could even finish asking herself the question. Brooke wouldn't be getting a break any time soon, not given what had happened last night. No, this wasn't something that she would heal from in a few days' time. This wasn't something temporary, something fixable, something minor. This was, as far as Peyton could see it, the worst thing that had ever happened to her best friend. Brooke hadn't even spoken to her about the event, but Peyton knew that this was the most traumatic event that the brunette had ever faced. This was the most drastic, most horrific, and most damaging thing that had ever happened to the brunette, and Brooke had already been through so much in her life. This wasn't something that would resolve itself within a few weeks, or months, or a year. This was, undoubtedly, something that would stick with Brooke for the rest of her life. Peyton didn't even know if Brooke had been conscious during the entirety of the attack -she hoped that she hadn't been- but she knew that there would be _some_ memories that would probably remain with Brooke forever. She knew that this would stick with the brunette forever, and god, Peyton wished that she could change that. She wished that she could erase Brooke's pain, that she could trade places with Brooke, that she could reverse time, that she could do _anything_ to change what had happened.

But she couldn't.

And she would never be able to.

And god, that hurt.

She took in a deep breath, making eye-contact with herself in the mirror that rested against the wall above the dresser.

 _You have to breathe._

 _You have to breathe._

 _You have to be strong._

 _You have to be strong, for Brooke._

She could do this. At least for now, she could maintain her composure. She could appear stable, appear "okay," whatever that even meant anymore. For now, she could keep up the facade that she wasn't hurting badly enough to want to collapse, to sob, to break. After all, _Brooke_ was the one who had a reason to collapse. Brooke was the one who had a reason to fall to her knees, to scream, to sob, to break. Peyton hated that she knew how _true_ that was, but she knew that it was inevitable. That it would be inevitable for a while. She knew Brooke Davis, the stubborn, fierce, and powerful woman who had the strength to persevere through this, but she also knew Brooke Davis, the sensitive, self-conscious, and altruistic woman, the one who would _hurt,_ and who would view herself as less, and who would downplay her suffering if she felt that she was burdening anyone in any way. She knew that Brooke was strong, but "strong" is such a subjective word. The media would define her as strong, as a woman who could persevere through anything, who could lose a limb one day and go rock-climbing the next, or who could get shot in the heart one day and go skydiving the next. And, perhaps because of her fame or perhaps because she had grown up without parental presence, Brooke oftentimes believed that her strength was defined by her independence. Peyton knew that Brooke tended to go through the hard things alone, that her beautiful, resilient friend would allow herself to suffer silently because she didn't want to _need_ people. Brooke Davis didn't want to rely on people. Brooke Davis didn't want to rest her own stability on the shoulders of other people for two reasons: asking people to help her would mean troubling others, and giving people the power to help her would mean giving people the power to break her.

Peyton let out a heavy sigh, shutting her eyes as she turned her head down. She needed to collect herself. Brooke would get through this. Brooke _had_ to get through this. Peyton would make sure that the brunette wouldn't be able to push anyone away, or at the very least, that Brooke wouldn't be able to push _her_ away. No, the two had been through so much together, too much for this to be something for Brooke to go through on her own. Peyton wouldn't let Brooke push her away. She wouldn't let Brooke blame herself. She wouldn't let Brooke bear the burden of the attack alone. Peyton couldn't change what had happened, but she could help Brooke recover.

Peyton almost didn't register her name being called out.

The shower was still running in the bathroom between the two bedrooms, but Peyton heard her name called out in an almost-hesitant voice.

Her immediate reaction was to worry. Had Brooke fallen? Had she torn open her stitches? Had she passed out from the mixture of exhaustion and pain? Had she had a panic attack, or an episode of even worse confusion?

Before she knew it, she was turning the doorknob into the bathroom, not even bothering to knock as the worst possible scenarios ran through her mind. She felt a rush of relief when she saw that Brooke was standing by the wall, clad in the baggy sweatshirt and trackpants that Peyton had given to her before she'd gotten into the shower. The relief was short-lived, however, when she caught notice of how nervous Brooke looked. The brunette had her arms folded and her shoulders were tense, once again as if she was trying to occupy the smallest amount of space possible, as if she was trying to hide herself. And she probably was. And Peyton couldn't blame her.

The blonde put on a calm expression, however, knowing that Brooke wouldn't want to be showered with pity. She knew Brooke well enough to know that the brunette would only want to be treated like normal, especially by her best friend.

"What's up, Brooke?" Peyton asked, offering her friend a small smile.

She wouldn't ask if Brooke was okay, because she knew the answer.

She wouldn't ask what was wrong, because there were too many answers.

She wouldn't ask if Brooke "needed" anything, because Brooke would feel guilty for needing.

So she asked "what's up," knowing that anything else would draw too much attention to the fact that Brooke wasn't okay, and that everything was wrong, and that she needed Peyton.

Brooke glanced over toward the still-running shower and then to the floor before opening her mouth to speak quietly.

"Can you turn it off?" Brooke asked. She looked up to Peyton, and the blonde's heart stung as she recognized a look akin to shame and embarrassment in the brunette's eyes. "I, uh, I can't bend down..."

Peyton felt her eyes well up slightly as she heard and saw her friend speak. She hadn't even considered that something as simple as turning off the shower would be a difficulty for the brunette, but now that she'd heard Brooke say it, it made sense. The numerous stitches, the bruises, the over-all exhaustion, the wound on her leg, the way moving in general probably made her head spin, all of that would make something as easy as reaching down to the shower taps impossible. What hurt Peyton even worse, though, was the fact that Brooke looked like she felt guilty for asking Peyton to help her, like she felt ashamed for not being able to do this by herself.

 _What else won't she be able to do by herself? What else is she going to hate herself for needing help with?_

"Yeah, sure," she replied in a light voice, stepping toward the shower and bending down so that she could turn the knobs. In a matter of seconds, the stream of water had stopped, and Peyton looked back up at her friend.

Brooke looked at Peyton sadly but with an almost overwhelming amount of appreciation in her eyes.

"Thanks, Peyton," she whispered, stepping away from the wall and toward her blonde friend.

Peyton just gave Brooke an understanding but slightly amused smile and rolled her eyes lightly. "Of course, Brooke," she replied simply, extending her arm out. "Now come here, B. Davis. "

Brooke herself felt somewhat relieved at Peyton's response, appreciating that the blonde was treating her just as she usually would rather than acting as though she had to walk on eggshells with her. Peyton wasn't treating her like she was fragile, she wasn't treating her like she was broken. She was just treating her like she always would, not complaining or showing any overwhelming expression of pity or concern. Brooke knew that if it were anyone else whom she was with right now, it would be different. But Peyton gave Brooke no reason to feel as though she really needed to feel embarrassed for needing help. While Peyton didn't pass any judgement for the simple things that the brunette needed her for, Peyton also didn't look at her like she was incapable. She just offered her support.

Neither of them needed to speak as Peyton let Brooke lean against her as they walked into Brooke's bedroom. Peyton knew that Brooke was exhausted and hurting, so it only seemed natural for her to offer the woman support in getting to the bed. Plus, she had a feeling Brooke wouldn't want to be left alone in the room, and she didn't want to leave Brooke alone either.

Brooke grimaced slightly when they got to the bed, the pain in her thigh intensifying with the movement. Just standing in the shower for an hour had been difficult, so walking definitely didn't ease the pain at all. Hell, without Peyton supporting most of her weight, she probably wouldn't have been able to make it the couple of feet from the bathroom to the bed. Yet, with Peyton there next to her, she didn't feel _weak._

Brooke grabbed ahold of Peyton's hand as she eased herself onto the bed, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath as she felt her leg and side and chest flare up slightly at the moment. She was okay, though. The pain mostly subsided once she had gotten herself onto the bed, and Peyton placed her other hand on Brooke's shoulder to help her situate herself. It took her a moment to realize that her bed was made, with the covers halfway down so that it was easy enough for her to slide under them. She looked up at Peyton with soft surprise, and the blonde gave her a small smile.

"I figured it'd make getting to sleep a little easier if you were comfortable," Peyton responded with a light shrug.

And Peyton had no idea how right she was. Had the bed left the way it had been the previous day, Brooke probably wouldn't have been very comfortable with the bunched up, turned-around blanket and the scattered pillows. Had the bed been made properly, Brooke would have had to expel more energy trying to untuck her comforter far and loosely enough that she could actually lie under it, and as simple as the action would have been for anyone else, it would have hurt like a bitch for her. As much as Peyton might have thought that the gesture wasn't a big deal, it was to Brooke. To Brooke, the fact that Peyton had even thought to do something like that was everything.

"You're so good to me, P. Sawyer," Brooke sighed softly, giving her friend a warm and grateful half-smile, half-frown. _"Thank you."_

Before she knew it, a tear had escaped her as she slid under the comforter, looking up at the blonde with absolute gratitude.

"Aw, honey," Peyton spoke with surprise, sitting down on the bed next to Brooke. She placed her hand on Brooke's cheek and wiped away the falling tear with her thumb gently. "It was nothing," she chuckled softly. "All I did was fix the blanket and move a couple pillows around."

Brooke shook her head. Peyton didn't get it. She didn't get that all of the simple gestures -giving her baggy clothes to wear, turning off the shower, walking her to her room, fixing the bed- were the biggest things that were helping her get through the day. Peyton sticking by her side, in all of the "small" ways, was what made Brooke feel like she could breathe.

"No Peyton," she breathed, closing her eyes and shaking her head, which was still cradled comfortably in the blonde's palm. "It's _everything."_

She couldn't stifle the yawn that followed, a direct result of having closed her eyes for even just a few seconds. She let out a soft sigh, allowing herself to give into the exhaustion that she'd been battling for hours upon hours. She leaned back against the pillows and gently but deliberately grabbed the hand that had wiped away her tear, not even opening her eyes. God, she was tired.

"Can you stay?" she asked, opening her eyes to glance at the blonde.

Peyton gave her a small smirk. "If you thought I was even planning on leaving, you're kidding yourself." She didn't hesitate as she lied down on the bed next to Brooke, and she didn't let go of the brunette's hand either. "Your bed's a lot more comfortable than mine is anyway."

Brooke shrugged lightly as she scooted closer to Peyton and rested her head on the blonde's chest.

"That's cause I actually have good taste," the brunette mumbled tiredly. "But that's okay Peyt, I still love you."

Peyton scoffed lightly before shaking her head and smirking herself. "I'd be offended enough to argue with you if I wasn't so tired, Brooke Davis."

The truth was, Peyton would be happy to banter with the brunette forever if she could. It was good to see her friend smile a little bit. Even if it wasn't a smile out of genuine happiness, it meant that in between all of the hurt, Brooke could still appreciate those little, light moments. Brooke could still find some humor here and there, could still feel comfortable enough to a degree that she could tease Peyton, or make a joke, or feel _something_ that wasn't pain, no matter how small it might be. It meant that Brooke was still there.

Brooke just nodded against her chest, and Peyton took that to mean that Brooke was finally going to be able to sleep. Part of Peyton had hoped that Brooke would have gone straight to bed after the hospital visit, but when Brooke insisted immediately upon getting a shower, Peyton had understood completely. She couldn't blame the brunette for wanting to shower, for wanting to scrub herself raw if that was what it would take to feel clean. Peyton remembered how she had felt after Psycho Derek, and he hadn't even hurt her the way Brooke had been hurt. But still, Peyton could remember the hour-long showers, the scalding hot water, the aggressive scrubbing. As much as she _wanted_ the brunette to get sleep as soon as possible, she wanted the woman to feel comfortable even more. She wanted Brooke to feel safe, to feel like she had _some_ sort of say in her life. She knew that Brooke never would have been able to sleep if she _hadn't_ showered. Peyton wanted Brooke to get some rest, but she also wanted Brooke to feel in control.

Brooke didn't release her hold on Peyton's hand as they lied together. The blonde's hand was like an anchor, keeping her grounded, keeping her safe. It was a reminder that she was _home,_ that nothing would happen to her there. The front door was locked. She had Peyton with her. She was _safe._ If she were to let go of the blonde's hand -if the blonde wasn't lying there with her, then things would be different. But Peyton, without even trying, could provide Brooke with more comfort than anyone or anything else could. For as long as Brooke could remember, it had always been that way. Ever since they were young, Peyton had been able to ground Brooke, and that remained especially true now.

Yet, as safe as Brooke felt, she couldn't close her eyes. She knew what sleep would mean. She knew that she would slip into an existence separate from where she really was. She knew that reality would fade and that she would be sucked into another environment, and as much as reality _sucked_ right now, it was better than giving in to her subconscious mind. Brooke knew what would happen once she let sleep capture her. All of her fears, all of her sorrows, would surface. The events of the previous night would occur once again. They would repeat, they would haunt her. Just like in the previous night's reality, Brooke wouldn't be able to escape a nightmare's attack. And the worst part was that the nightmare wouldn't even be fictional, and if it would be, Brooke doubted that it could get any worse than her true memories. No, if she were to close her eyes and allow herself to drift off, she would have to go through it all again. She would have to see and hear and smell and feel it all again. She would taste her blood again, hear her own screams and her own cries again, see his eyes again, feel _everything_ again. She couldn't do that. She couldn't go through it again and again and again.

Ten minutes had passed, and Brooke still hadn't shut her eyes again for any period longer than a second. Finally, it became too much for her.

"Peyton?" Brooke asked, her dripping with exhaustion.

The blonde looked down. She knew by Brooke's breathing that the brunette hadn't yet fallen asleep. Recognizing the layer of fear and the heavy sadness in Brooke's tone, she gave the other woman's hand a gentle squeeze, nodding so that Brooke would know she had her attention.

"I'm scared to close my eyes," Brooke admitted softly, letting out a defeated sigh.

Part of her wanted to cry just out of exhaustion. Her body was aching and she hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. Even at the hospital she hadn't gotten any rest, as the entire time had been consumed by being looked at by doctors. Even on the car ride home, she had just sat in the passenger seat staring out the window. She was _exhausted_ , and she couldn't even be afforded the luxury of sleep. She _wanted_ to sleep, but at the same time, she feared it.

She heard Peyton draw in a soft breath and she didn't need to turn her head to look up at the blonde to know what sad, concerned expression Peyton was wearing.

Before Peyton could speak, Brooke continued sadly, sighing.

"I know I need to sleep," she exhaled with a tired, weak shrug as Peyton ran a hand gently through the brunette's hair. "But I know what's gonna happen, and I just don't want to _relive_ it. Once was bad enough, Peyt... I don't want to keep going through it, over and over again..."

Peyton swallowed the knot in her throat and squeezed Brooke's hand firmly. She put her other arm around Brooke and rested her chin on the top of the brunette's head. She knew exactly what Brooke meant, and she wished that she could make it easier for Brooke, but she knew that she probably couldn't. As much as Peyton could try, she couldn't control what Brooke would dream about. She couldn't guarantee that Brooke would sleep fine enough, or that the nightmares wouldn't be as bad as Brooke worried. But at the very least, she could be there.

She bit her lip, taking a moment to find the right words, and then spoke slowly and confidently, hoping that she could at least offer Brooke some kind of support in what she was about to say.

"Brooke," she started, "I know that I can't erase what happened, but I _promise_ you, you will _always_ be safe with me... I might not be able to protect you from the nightmares, but I _promise_ you that I will wake you up if I ever feel like you need me to, and I promise that _nothing_ is going to happen to you, you hear me? When you're asleep, I will be _right_ here with you, and I will keep you safe. When you're _awake,_ I will still be here, and I promise you Brooke Davis, you are _always_ safe when you're with me."

Brooke wasn't sure what caused her to choke up more, the conviction in Peyton's words, or the words themselves. Maybe it was just _Peyton._

Yes, it was Peyton.

 _"I love you,"_ Brooke breathed out with a , her voice barely audible as she finally allowed her eyes to close, feeling as though maybe she really did have the strength to sleep if Peyton was there by her side.

Somehow, the blonde had a way of soothing her that no one else could ever hope to achieve. Her best friend could make even the most terrifying circumstances seem survivable. Sure, there were somethings that would never be ideal, but at least Peyton could make them tolerable. At least Peyton -by some miracle- could make the impending depravity of sleep seem bearable.

Peyton could make Brooke feel capable of surviving a few hours of sleep, and maybe, with time, she would be able to help Brooke feel capable of surviving the destruction the life she was now living.

* * *

 **AN:**

Hey guys, thanks so much for the reviews! I know this fandom has kind of died down a bit, but I guess that's just what happens when a show's been over for almost a decade. I still plan on working on this story, though. It'll certainly take some time before it's really completed, but so far, it's been a fulfilling enough process.

I hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter, and if you could leave any thoughts in a review, it would be super appreciated :)

I'm hoping I'll be able to, at the very least, update once a week or so for a while. I'm pretty passionate about this story, so I think I'll be able to stick to that schedule for the most part, at least until January.

Anyways, hope you're all doing well, and if you have any thoughts or questions or comments, feel free to leave a review ;)

-NF


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